


Lying As We Breathe

by EmmyJay



Series: Swords and Heroes and Other Broken Things [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword
Genre: Discussion of Past War Crimes, Gen, Ghirahim Is Still A Little Shit, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Manipulation, Rape As A War Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 17:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20429867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmyJay/pseuds/EmmyJay
Summary: Zelda has some unpleasant realities to consider regarding her friend-turned-hero.Ghirahim is all too happy to help her in that regard.





	Lying As We Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> A follow-up to 'Pretty Things'. This series might end up with more parts, I honestly don't even know at this point.
> 
> Warnings for discussion (and accusation) of rape and sexual assault, and allusion to past war crimes consisting of such. Also for Ghirahim just being a manipulative bastard.

_And our lungs just keep filling and lying as we breathe  
The world is filled with liars, liars like me_

\---

Zelda's head was still spinning when Ghirahim finally set her down, propping her against the far wall from the seal with surprising consideration. It made sense, she supposed—if he simply dropped her and her skull split on the ground, his plans would all be ruined. Just as they should have been anyway.

_'Just as they still will be,'_ she corrected, inhaling deeply to ground herself. Link couldn't be far behind them. His spirit has been tempered for this; she had to believe in him.

"I believe in Link," she said aloud, her voice weary despite her resolve, and she was thankful for the wall at her back keeping her upright—she had barely had a chance to recover after her sleep, and Ghirahim's attack had sapped any strength she might have gained in that brief moment of victorious peace. "You won't win here; that's not how this story is meant to end."

Beside the pedestal, the Demon Lord's eyes flicked toward her, one brow lifting. His painted mouth twitched into a smirk, all self-assurance and bravado; she wanted to slap it off his face.

"I don't know what sorts of 'stories' they tell you up in the clouds," he drawled, "but down here, we deal in such things as **facts** and **realities**. Surely you of all people would know that by now, _Your Grace_."

He spat out her title like a curse, and Zelda prided herself that she didn't flinch from the sound. She said nothing in response, and after a moment Ghirahim returned to his workings, fingers dancing through the air as he wove the necessary spells.

"I _do_ hope you know this isn't anything personal," he continued, in a tone too gloating to be truly apologetic. "I don't have anything against **you**, per se. Just, well," he waved a hand toward her, gesturing the entirety of her form, "everything that you are, have been, will be—hmm. Perhaps it _is_ personal, after all..."

The demon took a step back, pondering some unseen configuration in the air—reminding Zelda, curiously, of an painter surveying their latest work.

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter one way or another," he sighed after a spell, waving away his invisible masterpiece. "Though I _am_ somewhat disappointed it has to end. I've rather enjoyed clashing with your Hero these past months; he's made for some _grand_ entertainment.

A shiver of fear ran down Zelda's spine, coupled with a sinking dread. _'Entertainment?'_ Her mind swam with visions of Link beaten and bleeding, and their imprint must have shown on her face, because Ghirahim smiled knowingly at what he saw there. His long tongue slipped out, licking a lewd stripe across his teeth; at the same time he dragged one hand down his front, toying with the gilded sash around his waist.

"Oh, we've had some **encounters**, him and I," he nearly purred, fingers splaying almost indecently low. "And believe you me, Your Grace—those were _very_ personal."

The words, the tone, the gestures: they were a blatant show of innuendo, clearly meant to unnerve. But more than that, they left no room for question over the Demon Lord's meaning—what, exactly, he implied in speaking of these _encounters_.

Zelda began to tremble.

"You **monster**." The words escaped her on barely more than a breath, wavering with the intensity of her anger. Had she been able, Zelda would have stood—would have thrown herself at the _creature_ in front of her, would have torn him apart with nails and fury. "How could you?! What could you _possibly_ gain from such a vile—"

The laugh that exploded out of the Demon Lord silenced her tirade mid-breath, startling in its abruptness and volume. There was a _pop_, and a _shimmer_, and Ghirahim stood before her, clutching his sides in rancorous laughter.

"You think I would sink so low?" he asked once he had regained some semblance of control, though his voice still shook with barely-contained mirth. His hand fluttered delicately against his throat, eyes wide with falsified innocence above a smile too wide for his face. "Oh, you poor sweet child—it was _your Hero_ who forced himself on **me**."

The righteous anger died at once in Zelda's chest, replaced by a cold, sinking dread. Her eyes flew across Ghirahim's face, searching for any sign of dishonesty—widening in horror when she found none. _No_, she told herself, reaching wildly for something that made sense. No, this was a trick; this was a lie. It had to be a lie. Not her friend, not her Link, he wouldn't—

"He wouldn't do that," she vocalized her thoughts aloud; then, hope swelling with an epiphany, "he **couldn't** do that. Or do you mean to tell me _you_ couldn't have fought him off if you'd tried?"

"Of course I could have." Ghirahim gestured vaguely aside, flicking imaginary debris from his shoulders—for all the world uncaring, as though the whole universe wasn't crumbling away beneath him. _'For him, it isn't.'_ "Your brat Hero is far weaker than he likes to think. No, I _allowed_ him his little **outlet**—let him have his way with me, however he saw fit.

"But that hardly changes the fact of what happened, now does it?" His eyes flicked upward, mouth quirking as though he had suddenly remembered something amusing. "More than once, even!"

Were she not already prone, Zelda felt she might have crumpled beneath the thoughts rushing through her head. Her mind flashed to Link the last time she had seen him—_properly_ seen him, with a mind clear of the retreating fog from a thousand-years' sleep—in the world beyond the Gate of Time; the steel in his eyes that had never been there before, the wearied edges of his smile, the heavy weight that should never have settled upon his shoulders—

"I don't believe you," she said at length, all too aware of the waver in her voice. "I remember the war. I remember the crimes committed by Demise's forces—"

"Yes, because your side was so **blameless**," Ghirahim cut her off, glancing boredly at his own fingers. "You say you remember? Then I'm sure you know full well what your own armies did, every time they took a village." He glanced up to meet her eyes, head cocking to one side, and smiled with too many teeth. "I wonder how many of your fellow Sky Children could trace their lineage back to some nameless soldier taking their due—have you wondered the same?"

There was silence, then; silence because there was nothing Zelda could have said to Ghirahim, no words to refute him. Because lying or not, he was right: she **had** wondered it. Hylia—no, _she_ was no fool. She had always known the ways of battle, and its aftermath: men and women drunk on victory descending upon the very people they were supposed to have fought for. And she had sighed, and shaken her head, and turned away to plan their next move, because this was a war, and the fate of the land hung in the balance; she could not waste time on matters which would ultimately have no effect on its outcome.

The thought of it, of her own apathy—it disgusted her now. Made her want to retch, and weep, and tear at her flesh and hair in repentance. Had her own Hero been one of those who terrorized the people in the aftermath of battle? Hylia—_she_ had never bothered to find out. But he had been a courageous soul, a pure one; he would never have sunk to the same depths of depravity as his fellow soldiers, however heavy his burden.

But then, she had thought the same of Link.

In front of her, Ghirahim dropped to a crouch, watching her drown in her own remorse. When she chanced a glance at him, she found his expression mostly neutral; it might even have been called sympathetic, were it not for the gleeful light behind his eyes.

"It was far easier with your first Hero, wasn't it?" he nearly crooned, false comfort dripping from his tone. "Your divinity allowed you to disregard how his destiny wore on him; so long as he could still lift your holy sword, you were content to send him off again and again. Never mind how his _unbreakable spirit_ cracked around the edges."

He leaned in then, rocking forward on the balls of his feet: uncomfortably close and then inexplicably closer, until the tip of his nose brushed her own—until he was nearly speaking into her mouth.

"You don't have that luxury, _Zelda_."

The hand on her throat came too suddenly to fight, and Zelda too weakened regardless. Still she tried, her lower half twisting in a feeble attempt at kicking as Ghirahim stood, lifting her with him as he did. Dark spots danced at the edges of her vision, obscuring the edges of Ghirahim's face as he kept her at that same terrible proximity, his eyes wide with madness and delight.

"This is your doing," he whispered, his voice burning in her ears like acid. "I want you to know that. You have taken the boy you love and ruined him utterly, inside and out. He will die cursing your name."

The hand tightened, squeezing ever so slightly more, and Zelda had only one last moment of consciousness before darkness consumed her—long enough to hear one final, venomous promise.

"And you will die cursing your own vanity."

**Author's Note:**

> I realized halfway through writing that Ghirahim's taunts about Zelda lacking Hylia's divinity to remove herself from what she does could've been lifted straight outta chapter 17 of [aperplexingpuzzle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aperplexingpuzzle)'s 'Blind, But Now'. So credit there where due.


End file.
